That night must have been the most fateful night in the history of France.  All the world was watching with bated breath, watching to see whether France was really a “back number”—­whether the Prussian was truly the salt of the earth.  If Paris fell, the French Armies in the field were cut off from their base; defeat was certain, and the national history of France, or, at any rate, the glory of it, would be stamped out for ever under the Kaiser’s heel.  The fate of France was in the balance, and also the fate of the Russian Armies.  If Paris fell, Europe might be as much the slave of Prussia as it had been a century ago of Napoleon.  As for England, if her Fleet could master the German, well and good.  But, if not....

It looked as if the enemy were within an ace of victory.  He had flooded Belgium and Luxembourg with his armies, and, at the first clash of arms, had hurled everything before him in a manner which to the civilian must have appeared terrible in its completeness.  Several times had the defenders apparently attempted to stand, and as many times had they been hurled with even greater violence southwards.  And now, before the campaign was a month old, the enemy were within an ace of the most complete victory of modern times.  Many men will never forget that night—­men on either side with high commands.

How the Kaiser must have chuckled when the French Cabinet left for Bordeaux!  Bombastic phrases were perchance chasing themselves through his perverted mind.  How fine he would look at Versailles, strutting about the Hall of Victories.  He would sleep in the bed of the “Grand Monarque”—­and in Les Invalides how he would smile at the tomb of Napoleon!  Perhaps his statesmen were that very night drafting the terms of peace that a crushed adversary would be only too thankful to accept.  His day had come at last!  Henceforward how he would laugh at Democracy and Socialism.  He would show them that he was master.  The best weapon in all the world was sudden, bloody war.  He would show his people that he was their Master, their Salvation, their War Lord.  He was the greatest man in history, so he thought that night.

There may come a time when he will realise that, after all, he was only the most contemptible and pitiable.  But that is by the way.

His Generals could not have been so sure.  They must have seen the exhaustion of their men.  Von Kluck must have already felt the weight of the army, rushed out of Paris by General Gallieni, that threatened to envelop his right flank.  Von Heeringen must have realised that the offensive was being wrenched from his grasp.  And the Crown Prince was throwing himself in vain upon the forts of Verdun and Nancy.